


Double Blind

by JTtrack2



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 06:16:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13898034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JTtrack2/pseuds/JTtrack2
Summary: Kelley O'Hara was one of the CIA's bright young stars. Until a mysterious illness put her on a desk assignment in Silicon Valley. When she tries to use an attractive young soccer star to gain recruiting contacts, the lines between personal and professional interest are blurred as the two are pulled into an underworld even the seasoned CIA agent had never imagined.





	Double Blind

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Witch Who Came in from the Cold](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/361968) by Lindsay Smith, Max Gladstone, Cassandra Rose Clarke, Ian Tregillis, Michael Swanwick, Fran Wilde. 



> The concept for this is shamelessly ripped from the serial the Witch Who Came in From the Cold (which is fun and super queer, go read it!). I wanted to write a fic using the real characters, but the end of the second season killed my inspiration (ugh Gabe), so I decided to mix it up with some of the USWNT. I've never written a fic before and have no idea how often I'll be able to update, but it's nice to get the idea out of my head for now.
> 
> PS. the names Ice/Flame are super cheesy, I KNOW, but the real writers made it work.

Kelley spun her chair around, turning her back to the sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling window of her spacious office. Normally, the afternoon rays were one of the few perks at this joke of an assignment. In some of her previous posts her offices were damp basements bursting with filing cabinets or nooks no bigger than a supply closet lost in some interior corridor of an embassy that still reeked of the millions of cigarettes smoked there by spooks of the Cold War era, before the agency joined the general public in restricting smoking in the workplace. But Kelley had forgotten her sunscreen when she went surfing this morning and the sunshine made her cheeks feel burnt.  _Damn Irish complexion._ The last thing she needed was for her sunburn to trigger another headache. 

 

Kelley's current office definitely wasn't designed to thwart Russian counter intelligence. The shiny glass high-rise was built well after the Cold War and with dozens of other firms sharing the long corridors, it was hardly designed to keep state secrets. But if your cover is a Silicon Valley tech investment company, your office has got to look the part. And this office looked exactly like the kind of place you'd find someone with millions of dollars to splash around on apps and gadgets. Just in case the view didn't make that clear, Kelley made sure to keep only premium single malt Scotch in the liquor cabinet. When her boss saw the expense report for the $340 bottle of Bruichladdich Black Art, Kelley had expected a dressing down. But instead, her station chief came into her office at 4 o'clock on a Friday and asked Kelley to pour them each a glass.

 

"See how the bottle looks kind of new age?" Kelley smirked. "I'm not an investment banker, after all. I'm a cutting edge hot-shot tech investor." 

 

Agent Solo didn't respond to her cheeky justification. She knew it was a bullshit excuse; some sort of artisan gin would probably be trendier. But she also knew how hard it was for a field agent like O'Hara to find herself at this post where, well... the biggest workplace threat was a paper cut and the most thrilling part of the job was testing the latest VR gear. 

 

Kelley had proven herself in the field, gathering vital intelligence and recruiting contacts in some of the most dangerous areas of operation. Her op in Afghanistan, barely a year out of college, made her a rising star in the agency. Posing as an idealistic young English teacher for elite families, her intel had allowed the military to prevent a coup planned by an Afghan general who never suspected that his daughter's American tutor both understood Pashtu and knew how to plant a bug. 

 

"That... is quite a finish," Solo said, setting her glass down and letting the taste of her first sip linger. "How're you feeling?"

 

"I'm feeling fine. Fit as a fiddle," Kelley replied, setting her own glass down and tapping her palm against her abs. 

 

"No more headaches?"

 

"Nope, none." Kelley looked her boss in the eye and then put on her most charming smile. "Well, except a few weeks ago. The day after Stanford won the college championship. But surely I don't need to include a hangover in any official reports?"

 

Solo took another long, slow sip of whiskey and didn't answer. She knew Kelly was lying. But she appreciated the rare subordinate who wasn't intimidated by her. Most of her agents would hesitate to look her in the eye and tell the truth.

 

"Good," she finally said. "But make sure this bottle lasts, will you? I've got a budget to keep."

 

Kelley hadn't touched the whiskey in the month since their chat. Though she did stare at it longingly on days like today when the tedium of reports and research made the hours feel interminable. Today she was researching potential contacts in area start-ups who might attract interest from the sort of foreign investors the agency wanted to keep tabs on. It wasn't exactly useless, but then again, neither is the work of a parking attendant. It wasn't useless, but that didn't mean it was engaging. To help the time pass she'd opened a second tab with a stream of the Liverpool game. Alexander-Arnold was just about to take a corner when she heard a familiar knock at the door.

 

"Come in." Kelley didn't look up from the screen as her co-worker, Christen closed the door, came in, and sat down across from her.

 

"Hard at work?"

 

"Always," Kelley finally looked up with a grin. "Just scouting potential recruits."

 

"You're planning to recruit Mo Salah?" Christen laughed at Kelley's surprise and feigned innocence. "Geez Kelley, you're a spook. Looking at the reflection in your opponent's glasses is like, elementary school tradecraft."

 

Kelley took off her glasses and set them on the table. "I could recruit Mo Salah."

 

"Honestly, Kel... I'm sure you could probably get the entire premier league on our payroll. But, that's not our mission."

 

"It should be. Someone in that league could help us get the dirt on a Saudi Prince or Qatari Royalty."

 

"Well, I'm glad to hear you're interested in the Arab Peninsula. We've got an assignment."

 

Kelley perked up, "In Abu Dhabi? The Emirates?"

 

"In Los Angeles." Kelley's disappointment manifested itself in a not-quite eye roll.

"We're going to a nano-technologies conference. Given the potential military uses of a lot of this tech, we expect some representatives from... well, everywhere. But orders are to keep an eye out for some specific targets from the Gulf." 

Christen handed her a folder full of profiles and Kelley spent a few moments flipping through the pages, grateful that at least it hadn't been her job to put this report together.

 

"Is Jared going?" 

On their last assignment they'd been sent to a product show with a male colleague in tow. If the vendors weren't ignoring them to address only Jared then Jared himself was busy mansplaining basic concepts to them. This went on for thirty minutes before Kelley'd had enough and got in his face.  _Hey, Junior, I know you need to prove you aren't useless, since we all know that Daddy's name is what got you here in our fine company. But if you explain one more thing to me without being explicitly asked, I will make sure they never let you out from behind your desk again._

 

"Jared requested that he never be your partner ever again," Christen smirked. "And since Daddy's boy gets what he wants..." 

 

"Thank God." Kelley laughed, leaned back in her chair and undid her bun, shaking her hair out over her shoulders. An early morning at the beach left it wavier than usual.

 

"Kel... how are you feeling?" Christen's concern was genuine and it showed.

 

"I think I got a sunburn this morning." Christen just stared at her expectantly. This wasn't a superior keeping tabs on a subordinate. This was her best friend, her college teammate. And she wasn't going to accept bullshit distraction.

 

"I'm fine, Chris. Really."

 

"When was your last headache?"

 

"I... can't even remember." Kelley crossed her arms defensively.

 

"Lying to me isn't going to get you back in the field any faster." 

 

"Yeah, well what will? Blood test, MRI's, CAT scans... all found nothing. Officially, I don't have a problem. So unless you've got some  _magic_  cure for a non-existent ailment, let's not dwell on some occasional pain, alright? It won't interfere with this mission," Kelley raised her voice louder than she intended.

 

"Look, I didn't mean to upset you. But you know damn well I am worried about YOU. Not some low-level recruitment op."

 

Kelley closed her eyes. She and Christen had joined the CIA together after college. They'd trained together, but were sent separate ways as Christen's psych knowledge was deemed more useful at home than abroad while Kelley's easy charm and insane language skills got her assigned to the field immediately. Despite the distance, as Kelley moved from assignment to assignment, unable to build any genuine relationships at her posts, her friendship with Christen had been the grounding constant in her life. And when sudden, debilitating migraines caused Kelley to blow a major op in Cairo, compromising several agents and setting operations in the region back months if not years, Christen was the one who pulled strings to make sure she got a second chance.

 

Kelley was grateful, really. She could have been forced into an early "retirement" in the public sector. But sometimes it was easy to forget that this post wasn't just as bad.

 

"I'm sorry, Chris. I'm just... tired. I really should have put on sunscreen."

 

"It's ok, Kel. I just... you know I have your back, right?" She leaned into the table, her blouse bringing out a rich green in her eyes as she held Kelley's gaze until her defenses softened.

 

 "Of course." Kelley grinned. "And even if there is no magic cure, you could make me some of your magical enchiladas tonight..."

 

Christen didn't have as much field experience as Kelley. But she'd also been trained in tradecraft. And as much as she knew about the psychology of manipulating emotions, she was even more skilled at hiding her own. She laughed easily and promised she'd cook, if Kelley would bring dessert. Even an agent of Kelley's caliber couldn't have noticed Christen's surprise and concern, though Kelley's words had sent her head spinning.  _Does Kelley suspect something? Why does she keep bringing up magic? If she knows about the Ice..._

"Come to my place around 7:30? I've gotta get back to work." Christen pulled her long brown hair back into a clip and Kelley laughed slightly at how such a small action really did shift her look towards  _back to business._

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Christen sat down at her own desk, she didn't touch the profile she'd been working on. It could wait. There was more important business to attend to. Instead, she pulled out her iPhone and opened Instagram. She selected an old picture of her dog, Morena, walking on her leash. Black and white filter.  _Nothing like a walk to clear your mind_. 

 

She went back to her work, but couldn't quite concentrate on her analysis. Twenty minutes later she opened Instagram again and scrolled through her feed. There it was - a sepia filtered photo of a kitten drinking from the sink.  _It's 5 o'clock somewhere... but I don't get off work 'til 5:30 :(  ._  Christen looked at the time: only 4:15. She'd have plenty of time to finish her work and get to the meeting point by then. She closed her eyes and spent a minute taking deep breaths, feeling her chest rise and fall, the air flowing across the roof of her mouth, cool going in and warm going out. She opened her eyes, feeling centered and got to work.

 

 

* * *

 

Christen let Morena off her leash and sat down on a bench in the far corner of the dog park. This bench was often empty, as most owners preferred to keep closer to the entrance in case some inattentive owner left the gate open. Christen wasn't worried, she knew Morena wouldn't stray more than 20 yards or so from her side. And she needed some privacy.

 

After ten minutes or so, a muscular blond in a black tank top sat down beside her and Morena ran up to greet her.

 

"What a good girl you are," the woman said as she scratched that sweet spot on Morena's back that almost made her purr. Christen smiled and shook her head. The blonde put her hand in her pocket and Christen felt an almost imperceptible energy in the air, as though a bell rang without making a sound and she knew it was safe to speak openly. No one would hear.

 

"I don't understand why we have to be so indirect about everything. Using filters and captions as code. Why can't we just send a text on Signal? It's encrypted and we could still keep it vague," Christen complained.

 

"You know how the Ice is... resistant to change. It's a miracle we aren't still communicating via hidden ads in newspapers. You know, they did actually suggest using targeted Google ads at one point, but the logistics..."

 

Both women broke out in laughter. 

 

"Besides," the blonde continued, "I like the cat pictures. But surely we aren't here just to critique Ice methods of communication?"

 

Christen nodded.  _Right down to business. Something else the Ice is consistent about_. She looked at the woman beside her and saw concern in her piercing blue eyes. Becky Sauerbrunn was her superior in the Ice and in many ways was a typical Ice agent - serious, reserved, and dependable. But she had always had a certain warmth that Christen didn't see in many other members of the Consortium of Ice, her father included. Becky was focused on business, yes. But Christen had always felt that included genuine concern for others. 

 

"I'm worried that Kelley might be on to something. Today she... this feels a bit silly now that I'm saying it out loud, but she used the word magic. Twice and..." Christen could see Becky trying hard not to laugh. "Look, I know that it sounds like nothing. But it was the context. She was talking about a cure for her headaches and she mentioned a 'magical cure'. What if she remembers what happened to her? What if she knows something about magic? Maybe it was nothing but..."

 

"It was probably nothing. But, you wouldn't be this worked up if you didn't think it could be something. Talk to me." Becky looked serious now, her laughter replaced with an intense focus.

 

"It's a small miracle I was able to not just keep her in the agency, but get us both assigned here. We work together, we're best friends, but I can't always keep tabs on her. What if someone else realizes that she's a Host? Do we really expect that she'll never discover her power? That Flame won't find her eventually? If she learns the truth from someone else... Kelley is the most stubborn person I know.  I may never regain her trust." She finally stopped and took a deep breath. Morena trotted over and put her head on Christen's knee, as though she had sensed her stress from across the dog park.

 

"I understand your concern, Christen, but... you know Ice procedure. Watch and wait. We move when we have to."

 

"Watch and wait. Wait until Flame is a step ahead?" 

 

Christen came from one of the oldest families of Ice members. Generations of sorcerers. One of her earliest memories was of her grandmother giving her a charm to take to school. One of the boys in her class had been bullying her and her teacher brushed it off as just "boys being boys" and "he probably likes you". So her grandma had taken matters into her own hands. Christen sat and watched as her grandma chanted and she held her breath, trying to feel the power being drawn from the ley line that conveniently - and not coincidentally - ran beneath their sprawling home. The next day Christen left for school with the small charm tucked away in her pocket. A small amethyst stone wrapped in a tangle of metal wire and smelling vaguely of pine needles.

 

Class hadn't even started when the boy came up behind her as she sat at her desk drawing flowers with bright markers. She can't remember what he'd said to her that day, but she remembers the feel of the charm, like a crackle of static electricity, as she clenched it in her first and boldly told the boy to  _shut up._  He'd started to laugh at her retort, but while his mouth opened and his belly shook, no sound came out. He was too caught up in his own delight to notice at first, but when he tried to speak again, to continue his teasing, he couldn't hear his own words and began to panic. No one heard him scream.

 

His mother picked him up from school and rushed to a doctor, who couldn't find the source of the problem and prescribed hot honey water and rest. The charm wore off after 48 hours, but the boy never so much as looked at Christen again. 

 

And just as magic had always been a part of her childhood, so had the legends of the Flame. For many blissful years, Christen had believed they were mere tales, like La Lechuza. The idea of a group of sorcerers who sought to use the elemental power of the Hosts to burn the world down so they could reign over a new order, born of the ashes? Christen, in her innocence, couldn't imagine such a thirst for power. 

 

But her youthful naiveté had given way first to fear, then to determination as she grew to understand her place in this game. As was her family's tradition, she'd trained her whole life in the ways of the Ice. She'd lead a normal life on the surface - high school dances, soccer matches, four years of university. But while her friends watched sitcoms and chatted on instant messenger, she'd sat with her grandmother learning spells, practicing incantations, learning to identify elements and manipulate ley lines. Everything she would need to take her place as an agent of Ice, to keep the magic of the world in balance, to keep the world itself from falling into the hands of the Flame. Everything, that is, except the infinite patience apparently expected of all Ice sorcerers.

 

"We can't move too quickly," Becky replied, predictably. "How would you even begin to explain everything? Besides, Kelley isn't just stubborn, she's loyal. You're in the agency because that's where Ice needs you. Kelley's a patriot. You open up this world to her, show her what she's capable of, and you think she won't be dying to use it for CIA operations? Have you thought about how that could compromise you? And put  _her_  in danger?"

 

Christen didn't need to listen to the arguments. They'd barely changed over the years. She shook her head.

"Kelley is a patriot. And a hot head. And stubborn. But she's my best friend. She would  _never_  put me in danger. And I can't keep letting her suffer for our fuck up." Christen fastened Morena's leash to her collar and stood up. "Thanks for the chat."

 

"Christen..." Becky put a hand on her shoulder and although she was angry, Christen was a bit relieved that her intended dramatic exit wouldn't be the last word. "Trust me, ok? Whatever happens, just promise that you'll keep me informed."

 

Christen wanted to trust Becky. Ever since her grandmother passed, she'd felt alone in the Ice. She'd worked with Becky off and on for years and they shared a rare chemistry when casting spells or facing Flame agents. Just a few months ago they had rescued a Host from the hands of six members of Flame. Christen casting left and right, attacking the agents with charms and powerful chants while Becky drew energy seemingly out of thin air to build a defensive wall around them and the poor student who knew nothing of this magical world or her privileged place in it.

 

But their professional trust had never developed into any sort of personal relationship. How could she expect Becky to ever betray her own loyalties to the Ice hierarchy? She looked Becky in the eye, trying to judge her sincerity. But Christen couldn't trust her CIA-honed abilities to read emotions now. Magic offered too many ways to obscure perception. 

 

"I promise, I'll post a video of Morena chasing her tail if I decide to do anything crazy," she mumbled sarcastically. "Lo-Fi filter means Kelley's figured everything out and is trying to use ley lines to thwart Iran's nuclear program."

 

Becky watched Christen walk away. She couldn't help but admire the girl, who seemed almost unaware that she was one of the most powerful sorcerers the Ice had seen in a generation. Christen wasn't the only on frustrated by Ice tradition, but Becky wasn't sure she understood all the subtleties of this game they were in. All the moving pieces. All the ways that mixing emotions and magic could put her in danger.

**Author's Note:**

> PS. I once drank a 20E glass of whiskey and it was an utter disappointment. But this is a real bottle and it looks rad.


End file.
